The View From Toothless
by Ocean Rift
Summary: We all know the view from Hiccup, Astrid and some other characters, but has anybody ever told you what happened to Toothless before he was friends with Hiccup? How he got to be the only Night Fury to be found, why he was on Dragon Island? Find out. Please review for me, you are all my favorites. YOU. I MEAN IT. (I do not own HTTYD or any of its characters.)
1. Of Monsters and Dragons

Aranon floated above the ocean; his large black wings pocketed the buffeting winds that flew up from the surf. It was a perfect morning, the sun rose red over the Crescent Isle's rocky horizon, bathing the black pebble beach and forest in an orange light that streamed around the mountains.

To his left, other Night Furies dove headfirst into the waves to retrieve fish from the thrashing sea for their pups, and to his right, other dragon species were trying to copy the acrobatic children of lightning – Monstrous Nightmares, Deadly Nadders, even a few Gronkles were trying to replicate the perfect fishing of the Night Furies.

Aranon snorted at their efforts. Gronkles, they shouldn't even be trying. Nadders? They were technically wyverns, and they couldn't see the darting fish that would flash out of their talon's reach because of their eye placement – they were meant for larger prey. Now – Nightmares, they could fish fairly similar to the technique of the Night Furies, even though they were wyverns like the Nadders.

He would have been fishing also, but as Second to the clan's leader, he had to keep the divide between the Night Furies and the other species to keep fights to a minimum, it was pup and hatchling season, and competition for fish was fierce.

There was a wallowing bellow as a Gronkle was pulled under a cresting wave; the dragon's short wings were too small to pull him out from under the water. Aranon didn't see him resurface, but he was unmoved, all the dragons that weren't Night Furies on this island were rogues that had left their islands and had landed up on the Crescent Isle.

"Aranon," A voice like honey called from below him, it was Tempest, his mate. "Why are you out here?"

"I was... thinking." He replied slowly, he always had to be careful with what he said around her, everything he said around her couldn't seem less intelligent, everything about him seemed unremarkable, never good enough for the striking she-dragon.

She flew above him, then cuffed Aranon playfully over the head with her tail, "Come back to the island, Torok wants to speak with you."

Aranon rolled his eyes, "What does our mighty leader want now?"

"I don't know, he didn't say," Tempest said thoughtfully, as if trying to recall something, "he just said he wanted you to get over to the Crystal Cave, he also said a few words that wouldn't be very dignifying to say." She tilted her head, flashing the eyespots on her ears. These markings ran all over her, like liquid metal had been drizzled on her wings and tail, the rivulets of color were pearlescent white, so her wings glinted in the sun.

Aranon shook his head to break his stare, "I'm coming."

Tempest landed lightly on his back, not weighing him down a bit, "I'll see you back at the nest." Then she hopped off, diving down to the ocean and snapping a fish from the ocean easily, then jetted back off to the island, to the black peaks where the Night Furies nested. Aranon followed her with his gaze until she disappeared.

Aranon flared his wings, willing himself to be carried high above the rest of the dragons, then he followed his mate's example, snapping up a fish for a quick breakfast, then jetting off back to the island, but instead he flew to the beach, where Torok held his counsel in the Crystal Cave.

* * *

Aranon landed on the beach, spraying pebbles, and headed to the cave were the counsel was.

He poked his head into the entrance cautiously, then the rest of his body followed ever so slowly into the cave. Aranon squinted, the light from the glowing sea crystals in the cave were stunning, meant so that the dragon on the floor was forced to look at the Night Furies on the raised rocks – the counsel.

But today, only Torok sat on the raised pillars, the Night Fury's tail sweeping the floor. Torok was an intimidating figure, he was enormous for a Night Fury of his age, and he had traded his natural jade markings for crimson paint that ran down his back and wings like the tribal marks of the humans.

"Aranon, little brother," Torok leapt down from the pillar, "you came remarkably quick, usually you take your time with coming to the Crystal Cave." The dragon was on the ground with Aranon now, his ears flicking.

Aranon stiffened at the informal address, he narrowed his eyes. "What do you want, Torok? You never acknowledge me as family unless something bad has happened."

"You are correct," Torok said casually, he paused, as if contemplating something, then continued. "The Whispering Death pack to our south has intruded, they killed the nesting Gronkles on the east shore, a phalanx was sent to drive the intruders off, and they did. But at a price, the Gronkles that you saw fishing are the last of their kind on this island."

Aranon thought about the Gronkle that had been pulled under by the waves, how easily he had been killed. "Wouldn't the Gronkles on the beach be spreading the news of their comrades' deaths?"

Torok shook his head, "They don't know, but I suspect they will quite soon." The leader of the Night Furies observed his Second, then said with indignation, "The Gronkles are going to leave, as will everybody else – including Night Furies."

Aranon was stunned, not sure he heard his leader correctly. "What?"

Torok looked down at the ground angrily, "The Whispering Deaths aren't our only problem, they can be driven off. But we face a greater threat; a threat we cannot defeat now – humans."

"Humans?" Aranon asked incredulously, "Why would we not be able to defeat humans? We are more than capable –"

"It's Frost," Torok interjected. Frost was the Night Furies' elder who lived on the north face of the mountain, despite her hermit-like existence; she sometime came down to tell her predictions. And quite often her predictions came true. "Frost came to me before I called for you. She told me that she had a dream, and she predicted that humans will crash against this island like waves, there will be no dragon will be left alive, no rock will be clean of blood – unless we all leave."

"But where will we go? Night Furies aren't nomads, we can't move around like other dragons."

"There is a small island, enough for us, in the Barbaric Archipelago. There are plenty of food sources, that area has been coveted for many years. But there are two problems." Torok drew a map with his talon in the dirt floor of the cave.

Aranon glanced skeptically at the dirt floor, then back at Torok, "What problems?"

"Of course, there are humans to the Northeast, but they are the least of your concerns," he drew a string of islands, the largest on the end he labelled with a figure of a human, then he gestured an island that was slightly smaller, "this is the island we want, but it currently hosts a less than friendly local."

"Get on with it," Aranon growled.

"Red Death."

Aranon looked at Torok with disgust, "did you seriously just use the words 'less than friendly' to describe a Red Death?"

"Yes, yes I did," Torok matched his Second's tone, "But she is lazy. She depends on the dragons on the island to feed her, if they don't –" he made a snapping noise with his mouth, " – she eats them."

Aranon paused, "Then will we go to this island, to be oppressed?"

"No!" Torok barked, "_You_ will go to the island. And _you_ will kill the Red Death and liberate that island for our clan."


	2. Flying Before the Storm

Aranon was lost for words, a million thoughts raced through his head. "What?"

Torok's gaze hardened. "When you swore your oaths as my Second, you pledged to do whatever in your power to serve the Children of Night. I hold you to that oath." The leader looked at him balefully, "I would take this quest myself, but I must guide this clan."

Aranon knew what Torok was saying was true, he _was_ bound by his oath, if he broke it, all honor would be lost to him. But if he went, he would surely die, but if he didn't go, everyone would die. _Tempest_ would die.

"I will go. But please, let me say my goodbyes to Tempest."

"Quickly, no time is to be lost." Torok said, "A storm is coming, and you must fly out before it."

Aranon was about to fly out of the cave when Torok spoke up, "Brother, I am sorry."

"I know."

* * *

The nests of Night Furies on the mountains roiled with rustling wings and bodies, parents were herding their pups to their nests and covering them with their wings, settling down to wait out the storm. The farther up the mountain he went, the more pups he could hear, nesting adults had prime space, the only reason he and Tempest were so far up was because he was the Second.

He flew up to the ledge that he and Tempest shared with six other Night Furies, all of them were bunkered down under the overhang with their pups, small squeaks of week old pups emanated from beneath their wings.

Tempest had been waiting for him, and her head perked up when he folded his wings, her ears erect.

Before she could say anything, Aranon spoke, "I'm leaving."

"What?" Her ears drooped, her eyes wide in confusion, "Where are you going?" She stood up, "You're not leaving me here alone, are you?"

"I have to go far away," He nuzzled her, breathing in her scent. "I'll be back as soon as I can. But I have to go."

"I'll go with you," She said, her voice quivering with hurt.

Aranon stepped back, "No, you can't. It's too dangerous." He took a deep breath, "I swear to you I'll come back. I swear it on the moon and the stars and everything between I will come home. And you will be safe."

"May the wind be always at your back, Aranon," Tempest dipped her head, reciting the customary farewell of the Night Furies.

Aranon flared his wings, then turned to finish the goodbye. "Until we meet again, may Night hold you in her hands." Before Tempest could look up, Aranon was gone, riding the winds upward towards the Barbaric Archipelago.

* * *

Aranon continued to fly for day in and day out. The storm that Torok had warned him about was far behind him, the clouds long having turned with the wind southwards, and now the wind was trying to push him back home south, like even the elements wanted him to turn back to Tempest.

_You're doing this for Tempest._ He told himself reproachfully, _you're doing this for everybody. _He quickly corrected himself, straightening his course. He continued to surge his wings, the waves beneath him were gray as the slate colored clouds her was flying beneath, a distorted reflection of himself followed Aranon across the waves.

There was a heavy thud. Then another. Aranon realised that his reflection had been suddenly joined by a legion of others, dragons of all shapes and sizes carrying strange creatures in their talons.

Gronkles, Nadders, Monstrous Nightmares – what he was used to, including Hideous Zipplebacks, which never really stayed long on the Crescent Isle, but he was familiar enough with them. But a smaller dragon species, hardly the size of his foreleg was new, flying amongst the larger dragons.

A deep blue Monstrous Nightmare fell in beside Aranon, she was carrying two small hairy creatures, the white wool was stained with their own blood and was singed slightly. "You're not from 'round 'ere are you?"

Aranon didn't know how to react to her way of speaking, but he managed to stutter: "No, not at all."

"I thought not," she snorted, " 'ere." She tossed him one of her hairy little creatures, which he fumbled with. "You ain't going in the nest without food. Not that the Queen be very fond of sheep, she prefers deer."

Aranon cringed, thinking about how huge the Red Death would have to be to eat the amount the smaller dragons were hauling in. The Nightmare chirred, "You _really _ain't from 'round 'ere."

"Yah," The Night Fury said quietly, "I don't know if you care, but my name is Aranon Nightstar."

"Fancy," the Nightmare replied, letting out a low whistle. "My name be Sorcha. Pleased to meet cha' Aranon."

From above them, there was a low chirring noise, made in the deep belly of a Gronkle. Sorcha cocked her head, and then suddenly took a steep dive, her wings tucked tightly to her sides.

Aranon made the split second decision of following her, and plunged into a heavy sea of fog. Sea stacks appeared out of nowhere, and the only thing that kept him alive was his lightning reflexes and the cobalt form of Sorcha that was barely visible through the fog in front of him. He fumbled with the limp form of the sheep he held, digging his talons into the matted wool to keep his grip on the sheep.

"This way, Aranon!" Sorcha called, motioning him forward with a flick of her head, then she darted upwards, flying towards what the fog had revealed. A jagged mountain that was silhouetted against the grey sky.

The Night Fury flared his wings, then pumped them frantically to reach the narrow tunnel entrance into the mountain. He hesitated; he didn't want to go into the tunnel. Night Furies liked the open space, that's why they nested on the mountain, not in caves.

He held his breath, then plunged into the cave behind Sorcha.

Aranon felt like he was being suffocated. He could hardly fly in the confined tunnel, his wingtips scraped the rock.

Suddenly, the tunnel expanded into the cave, which was so huge it looked like the mountain had been hollowed out to a shell. The ledges and twisting spires were bathed in a blood red light roiled in a mist that had sunk to the bottom of the cave.

The dragons ahead of Aranon swooped over the red mist, dropping their kill into the mist. Aranon growled in disgust, if they were dropping food down to where the Queen nested, wouldn't the animals become damaged, and therefore, uneatable?

There was a deep bellow from the pit, jarring Aranon's flight. That must be the Queen, and, in answer to his earlier question, he didn't think the food even reached the ground before it was snapped up. The Queen must be enormous to make that loud of a roar.

He dropped his sheep into the mist, then peeled off to the side, following Sorcha, to avoid collision with other dragons entering the cave.

Aranon alighted on a broad ledge that was backed with a precipice; pillars of rock that spiraled in an arch towards the back wall blocked him from sight of whatever was residing in the pit. Sorcha was on the ledge also, her long blue tail curled around her. There was also a Deadly Nadder on the ledge also; he was light gold with a beige underbelly.

A puffy scar ran diagonally across his throat, running from his jaw all the way to his keel, the scales around it were embedded in his flesh, like they had grown back wrong, and the scar, which was thicker than Aranon's talon, had no scales at all.

The Nadder growled at Aranon and Sorcha rebuked him. "Cut that out, Tyon, Aranon's a friend." The Nadder, apparently named Tyon, quit growling, but he didn't stop giving Aranon a yellow eyed glare. Sorcha lifted her head, "Tyon had his throat cut by a Viking few years back, he caint speak no more." She nudged Tyon with her tail, "Be nice. He's one o' us now."

Tyon grunted, then lay down under an overhang, his tail spikes puffed out in a defensive gesture, his body language was clear – he did not wish to be friends. Aranon nodded ruefully in acknowledgement, then he lay down by Sorcha, his ears pricked and his body ridged even though he tried to relax.

The Queen roared again, shaking the walls loose of rocks that skittered over the dragons' protective wings. Aranon's heart skipped a beat, then started to thump like he had flown around the world at top speed. Other dragons tittered and shuffled uncomfortably, shrinking back from the red mist and against the walls.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

**I've decided that I'm going to post a new chapter every Monday, if I don't then I will try posting it any other time of the week, but ultimately Monday.**


	3. Like Ice on a Fast Flowing River

**In response to the request for longer chapters, I shall do my best, it's a natural tendency to make short chapters. I'm sorry for that. **

** Also, I just couldn't wait to upload this chapter because we get to meet one of my favourite (so far) characters. Please tell me if my writing is too choppy or anything – nobody I know knows how to revise well without be stupid about it.**

** Yours in demigodishness, OceanRift.**

* * *

Aranon's sleep had been, quite admittedly, awful, the rock he had slept on wasn't comfortable no matter what way he lay. Frustrated, he stood up. The Night Fury stretched, his teeth still sheathed in his gums from his sleep, then quickly straightened and shot his teeth out when he saw Tyon watching him with a beady yellow eye.

Weakness wouldn't be tolerated in this hellhole. "What are you looking at?" Aranon snapped, baring his sharp white teeth.

Tyon only rumbled in response, a dark, brooding noise.

Sorcha woke; she regarded the two males with drooped eyelids, not bothering to lift her head from the ground. "How'd you sleep?" she asked Aranon.

"It was awful," the Night Fury admitted, walking over to the border of the ledge. He felt weak from the flight to the island and not eating anything the night before, fishing would be a good option. "I'm going out." Aranon lifted his wings, black silhouetted against the red mist in a stark contrast.

Tyon gurgled, more urgent than brooding, his crown of spikes erect in fright. Sorcha leapt up – extremely fast for a dragon who had just woken up – and pinned down Aranon's wings. The Night Fury screeched, angrily batting her away with his tail. "What are you doing?" He growled.

Sorcha knocked him over with her wing in retaliation, "We ain't allowed flying out of the nest till the Queen say we can! She'll eat 'cha if you try going out!"

Aranon's teeth shot up into his gums in surprise at Sorcha's sudden anger, "Oh."

An uncomfortable silence enveloped their ledge, like a bubble muffled any sound that come from beyond it. Aranon's mind scrambled for another thing to speak about other things. Luckily for him, a Grapple Grounder landed on the ledge. It was a female; her body was a midnight blue with blocked gold bands. "A Night Fury," She breathed, she had a rich foreign accent.

The thing about Grapple Grounders, they're extremely rare, living few and far between, and Aranon had never really seen one before, only heard of them. She was much like the stories described them as – a long, ropy body similar in length to a Scauldron, with a head similar to that of a Zippleback, but much less of an under bite, and more pointed. She had four blunted horns that joined her head to the neck and four legs similar to that of a Night Fury's, and her tail was long and whip-like.

Tyon rumbled again, standing up and moving away from the three other dragons in an obvious wish to be alone.

Sorcha rolled her eyes at the Nadder, then turned her head back to the Grapple Grounder, "What'cha' like, hon?"

"I heard rumors that a Night Fury had come to the nest, and I wanted to know if it was true or not." She cast Aranon an admiring glance, "I'm Celine. It's been a long time since a Night Fury has come to our nest."

"It's not surprising, a Night Fury would only leave the Crescent Isle if they have no choice, especially not to this place." Aranon only realized what he had said after it had left his mouth, his eyes widened in embarrassment.

Celine bobbed her head indifferently. "Neither would any other dragon," She agreed.

Sorcha eyed him, "then why did you?"

"I had to leave my home and come to this island because I was sent," He said, "the reason is one I shall keep to myself."

"Have you come to kill the Queen?" Celine inquired meekly.

"What?" Aranon asked, taken aback by how the Grounder knew that.

"All the other Night Furies that have been here have claimed that they came to kill the Queen, but none of them succeeded," Celine said, then she added something very quietly, something about them not all leaving in the end.

Aranon thought about that for a moment, he was the first Night Fury to leave the island for a long time; it was possible she was speaking about the Children of Lightning that nested farther to the south.

Celine continued, "Each time they come, they raise all of our hopes, and when they fail, those hopes crash down on our heads."

Sorcha eyed him, "You haven't come to try to kill her, 'ave you?" Her voice was cracked, she wounded like her hope was thinner than ice on a fast flowing river.

The sound of the Nightmare's voice tore at his heart; he couldn't give them false hope.

"No. I have not come for that reason."

Aranon did something that he had never done before in his life – he told a lie.

* * *

Aranon was flying wingtip to wingtip with Sorcha over the clouds, Celine above them. The Queen had bellowed, at that point, Sorcha said they were able to go and hunt for themselves. All the dragons seemed to be taking advantage of the reprieve from the Nest – including the small dragons that he had noticed upon flying in.

He took his opportunity to ask Sorcha, "What is that?" he asked, tilting his head towards the tiny dragon that flew port to him.

Sorcha twisted her head to look, "That be a Terrible Terror, not good for much, being so small an' all. We keep 'em 'round for entertainment." The Terrible Terror licked its eyeball and made a ditzy, twittering noise like a bird as if to prove Sorcha's point, "You've never seen one?"

Aranon shook his head, watching the Terror flap lazily towards a small island. "No – dragons other than Night Furies usually get blown in to our island by accident because of massive storms; those little ones wouldn't be able to live through those."

Sorcha grunted in agreement, then suddenly dropped towards an Island that they were approaching. The Night Fury tightened his wings towards his body, following Sorcha's steep descent. The Monstrous Nightmare waited until the last minute to flare her wings open, drifting down to the Island. Celine and Aranon followed suit, softly alighting on the warm rock.

"Sunstone Island," Celine offered to Aranon, "very nice beaches and –"

"Boar!" Sorcha roared, taking off again in pursuit of a hairy looking thing that passed in her line of sight. Celine whooped, taking off after the Nightmare with a flick of her tail.

Aranon felt like he had no choice but to follow them, so he lifted off the ground, then jetted after them through the trees.

Sorcha's eyes were alight with excitement as she flew over the trees in hunt of the creature she called a 'boar', "Stay out of my way, pretty dragon, this one's mine!" Sorcha called to Celine, who was flying beside her.

Celine chirred raucously, taking teasing dives at their prey. She began to sing between her laughs:

_"Hello there, pretty star-" _Thump. Sorcha had cuffed the Grapple Grounder over the head, which made the dragon even more determined to continue her raucous song – _"Hey there, pretty moon! I got a boar, a hare, a fish to share! Caught by yours truly, to be shared dually!"_ She swooped down again, cutting the boar on the back with a razor sharp talon.

The animal squealed, swerving away from the path.

Sorcha swore angrily, then flew closer to the ground, chasing the boar. "Stop it, Celine! I mean it!" She didn't seem to be in a playful mood, so Celine silenced herself and focused more on the hunt.

Aranon hung around the back – he had never hunted on land before, Night Furies only ever ate fish and the occasional crab.

Celine followed Sorcha into the trees, her long body easily weaving around the trunks like a river – mesmerising as Arvendole's Fire. She shot a plasma blast beside the boar, driving it towards Sorcha, who herded it into a log with a pump of her wings. Aranon was shocked; he thought that Night Furies were the only dragons that could shoot plasma blasts. Celine looked back at him; a chirr escaped her throat when she saw his bemused expression. "I only use that when I'm being a Stulte*," she whispered to Aranon when they landed, "it's a pain to make, and it makes my throat itchy."

Sorcha blocked one end of the log with her thick wing, moving her head by the other end to eye the boar, now trapped in the hollowed log. "Me head's too big, Celine, you want to give 'em a go?"

"I'll chase him out." She said giddily, moving around to where Sorcha's wing blocked the entrance, "Be ready, he's a fast bugger." She manoeuvred her head under Sorcha's cobalt wing, Aranon could see the log illuminate when she blew a jet of flame.

Sorcha was ready for the squealing boar to hightail out of the log, and with a swift movement of her head, Sorcha snapped up the boar and broke its back, silencing it forever.

* * *

They lay on the beach, their bodies half-buried in the scorching sand, their tails dipping in the water. Celine and Sorcha picked at the boar, while Aranon swallowed his fishes that he had caught whole.

"Celine, how did you get to be on Dragon Island?" Aranon asked, genuinely interested.

She tore a strip of meat from the boar's hindquarters, swallowing it whole. "I'm originally from across the mainland, in a place the humans call India. I left in search of a reprieve of the corrupted council that ruled my colony – not a very good trade I made, huh?" She snorted. "I would leave, but where would I go? I can't exactly go back to my home."

Sorcha grunted, pushing the rest of the boar towards Celine, who pounced on it eagerly. "That's what's keeping us all from leaving, or even rebelling," she said, "The Queen knows it too, and she's the only one who knows how to control the Smouldering Smokebreaths that make the fog around the Nest. Without them, the Vikings would find our nest for sure."

Aranon knew this was his chance to find things out. "These Vikings, you don't take them seriously, do you? I mean," he chirred, "they can hardly be a problem for a nest of this size, even if they made it past the Smokebreaths."

Celine buried herself deeper into the sand, her belly now full of red meat, "Not exactly. They constantly send boats out to find us, we always burn them up, and they hardly ever make it back to port. And they, gods bless their souls, refuse to leave their islands, providing us with easy food for the Queen."

"Hence last night's raid," Sorcha said in response to Aranon's look of confusion, "Those sheep were from the village, along with a few yaks."

"And they don't leave?" Aranon asked, incredulous.

"Nope!" Celine cackled, "Their skulls are thicker than a Gronkle's!"

* * *

The following days were a blur of routine. Wake up, hunt, stay away from the Nest as long as possible, go back, sleep, repeat. And all too soon, the Queen's rumblings could not be ignored, she was hungry, and she expected them to go out and find her food.

It was Aranon's first raid, and honestly, he didn't want to go.

He stood apprehensively at the rim of their ledge, Celine and Sorcha hung towards the back, trying to coax Tyon out from his corner. The old Nadder hadn't left the Nest in the entire time Aranon had been there, and had refused the scraps of food they brought back for him. Naturally, the dragons who shared the ledge with him were concerned.

Tyon hissed at the Monstrous Nightmare and the Grapple Grounder, his meaning clear as always – he would rather starve than leave the Nest for another raid.

"Leave him," Aranon said to the two females, "if he doesn't want to come, that's fine, just make sure he's out of sight."

The Queen bellowed again, demanding food.

Sorcha cast a regretful glance at her friend, as if already mourning his death, then beat her vast wings and carried herself off the ledge. Aranon and Celine followed suit, squeezing through the narrow cave entrance after the Nightmare.

Aranon hated this part of the Nest more than any other, only just more than the red mist. He could barely unfurl his wings, and him being a medium sized dragon, he could hardly imagine how the larger dragons felt.

Finally they burst into the cold night air, a horde of colours amassing outside of the Nest, leaving in swarms of dozens. Aranon and his companions were swept away with a group of younger dragons, all cavorting and wasting valuable energy on their flirting and acrobatics. The fresh air was intoxicating for them.

Aranon realized that had he been on the Crescent Isle with his friends and was thinking less sparingly about food, he would have been doing the same thing.

They flew high above the sea stacks and over the clouds, where nothing separated them from the stars and the moon. The thought made his heart ache, like it was being pulled apart by the small talons of Terrible Terrors. _I will be back home soon, Tempest, I promise._

Sorcha flew up from under Aranon and Celine, gliding beneath them comfortably, "Three simple rules to remember on the raid, Aranon: One, only stay in one place long enough to get food, Two, if you ain't stealing food, yous be causing distractions for the humans, Three –"

"Don't let the Vikings capture you," Celine said gravely, "and four: if a dragon is captured, we never, _ever_, help them. You fly as fast as the wind will carry you back to the nest."

Aranon swallowed, that sounded like a very serious rule, and he doubted any of the dragons from the Nest would break it. "What happens if I do get captured?"

"They put you in an arena and kill you while the rest of their village is watching. It be awful to know that some dragon you know is dying," Sorcha replied, her voice tight.

Aranon was silenced, mulling over how if humans were capable of such cruelty here, why not the Crescent Isle? He shuddered at the thought.

"Hey," Celine nudged his tail with hers, "stick with me tonight, okay? I'll show you what to do. Darker dragons always go in the background anyways, destroy catapults and such while the flashy dragons are doing their work."

The Night Fury nodded mutely.

"Don't worry!" Celine moaned, stretching out he words, "We'll be in, and we'll be out, best case scenario, we won't even be seen!" Aranon didn't even bother asking what the worst case scenario was.

The younger dragons disappeared into the clouds, their earlier carousing resigned into a tense quiet. Sorcha nodded to Celine and Aranon, and they, too, dove through the clouds and over the water.

Ahead of them, half shrouded in sea stacks was a large island. Two tree covered sea stacks that bent over and met at the top, one continuing to become a tiered mountain. On the bottom tiers of the island, dozens of lights glittered, torches, leading down in a single line towards a dock, which wrapped under an overhang of the village and over the water.

Celine flew closer to the water, her body blending with the dark waves save for her golden bands, which, close to the water, resembled leaping gold fish. "This is Berk."

* * *

**Okay, I would post a picture of a Grapple Grounder for your reference, but I can't do that – so here's a link to the wikia.**

** wiki/Grapple_Grounder**

***Stulte – the Latin word for 'fool' (I'm using Latin because Norse translations have too many accents and I'm lazy, deal with it).**


	4. Nightmare and Nightmares

Aranon could honestly say only two or three sheep where stolen before things took a turn for the worse.

"Dragons!" was the indication that the first pack of dragons had been sighted by the Vikings.

From there, everything disintegrated rather quickly. Aranon mentally cursed Celine, who was now out of sight, '_We'll be in, and we'll be out!' _He mocked her statement. Dragons criss-crossed over the village, picking up sheep hastily and flying away, trying to avoid the flaming cauldrons that the Vikings had raised so they could see them. The raid was noisy, a constant roar of sound constantly assaulted Aranon's ears: roars, growls, yells, explosions, and the ring of the Viking's weapons connecting with horns and talons. He could hardly hear himself think over the din.

Many dragons and set fire to the houses. They were called collectively 'Stultes' by the rest of the Nest, they were the dragons that usually pulled off stupid stunts back at Dragon Island, and probably couldn't resist being idiots during a raid either. Nadders shot spines, Gronkles bellowed, Zipplebacks combusted houses, and the Nightmares did what they did best, setting things on fire. Already, half the Viking village was on fire, Aranon could see the Viking pups attempting to fight the flames with buckets of water, but they could hardly stop the inferno.

A Monstrous Nightmare Stulte was climbing a pyre that was topped with one of the Viking's catapults, his body alight. All around him, the wooden planks were combusting, burning to a crisp, then falling to the ocean. The Vikings who were manning the catapult were shouting indiscriminate curses at the Nightmare, who chirred and continued his agonizingly slow crawl towards them. He reached the top, chirring uncontrollably at the humans who scurried around on the flaming pyre, trying to put out his flames.

Aranon couldn't stand seeing that the Nightmare was having so much fun with the humans. He had promised Celine and Sorcha that he'd stay out of the searchlight, but the Stulte was getting on his nerves. Aranon knew that he was nothing but a blur to the Vikings, a shadow against the stars.

He prepared his shot in his throat, a whistling noise the only thing giving him away; warning the humans and the Stulte Nightmare, then released the blue plasma blast. The Nightmare had peeled off the tower, chortling at the humans. Aranon streaked over the tower as it exploded, a blue ring from the explosion shot outwards away from the initial orb of blue fire like a ripple of water.

"Jump!" the Vikings screamed, leaping into the ocean and resurfacing, only to be pushed down again by the falling pyre, the catapult atop it landed on some men unlucky enough to be in its way. Aranon winced.

The Nightmare Stulte came up from behind Aranon, "That was amazing! I've never seen anything like that in my entire life!" He cackled, "You sure did give those Vikings a scare!"

Aranon managed a smile, though on the inside, he was tearing the Nightmare limb from wing. "I try."

"Say," the Nightmare rose higher, barely dodging a boulder that had been hurled at him, "You're that Night Fury everyone's talking about! Arrow, right?"

Aranon had no idea how the Nightmare could be so casual during the raid, but he tried to play it cool. "Aranon," The Night Fury replied, "If you don't mind, I need to go find my friends."

The other dragon shrugged off the brisk dismissal, "Stay foolish!" The Nightmare chirred as he flew off. Aranon swiftly did the same, but in the other direction. He skirted around the village, searching for weak points in their defence. All he needed was one sheep. One sheep was his only chance of staying alive in the Nest.

Aranon realized that the raid was starting to take a more violent turn. All of the more peaceable dragons had left with their kill, so only Stulte were left, along with other dragons who were enjoying their ability to move around the Viking village without being challenged, so they stole as many unguarded sheep as they could. A male Gronkle zipped past Aranon, a Viking man clinging to his face and hammering on the Gronkle's tough hide with a war hammer; the two of them went down into the sea when the Viking's weight became too much for the Gronkle to handle.

There was a distant roar of a dragon, and the yelling of the Vikings rang in Aranon's ear holes.

Aranon landed quietly on a rooftop, he was as invisible to the humans as a shadow in the dark. He crept forward, trying to get a good look at the inside one of their structures. He was curious about the humans, though he was not sure why.

Inside this particular building, a rough looking man was doling out weapons and receiving bent ones from other Vikings over a counter. He had a hook for a hand and a strange looking growth of hair on his upper lip, long and knotted, "No time to be choosy!" he yelled at the other men and women, tossing them axes and swords. "Hiccup! Hurry up with that sword!"

"Coming, Gobber!" a small voice yelped in reply, it belonged to an auburn haired pup with pitifully small muscles. The pup dashed up to the counter and handed the sword he was carrying to the older Viking. Aranon was perplexed by this pup. He was much too small to be a Viking, yet he spoke their language and worked in their weapon-making-structure.

"Aranon!" The Night Fury turned, Celine was speeding towards him, her eyes wide in fear, she landed on the rooftop next to him. "Aranon, they have Sorcha!"

"What?" Aranon asked, startled. "Tell me everything."

"She and I, we were on the far edge of the village," Celine said quickly, "The Vikings ambushed us and took down Sorcha. Both of us were out of shots and we couldn't get away. She gave me only enough clearance to get away, I tried to help her, but there were too many humans."

Aranon's ear flicked up, he heard a slight noise. His eyes shot downwards and he saw a human. It was the pup, the auburn haired male from the weapon-making-structure, standing between the buildings, looking up in awe of the two rarest dragons in the archipelago. He held a small dagger in his hand; Aranon couldn't help but admire the boy's bravery, no matter how foolish. But as Aranon looked closer, he realized that the pup couldn't see him, only the Grapple Grounder. "Celine," he whispered, "below you."

She screeched in astonishment, then flared her wings to make her escape. The pup stumbled as the wind blew him backwards into the house Aranon was perched on, cursing loudly.

While the pup was distracted, Aranon took off after Celine. But once he was in the air and over the sea, he had lost sight of the Grapple Grounder.

"Celine!" He roared, "Celine!"

"I'm here!" The Grounder responded, seemingly melting out of the ocean below him, she sounded shaken.

He glided closer to her, "Celine, are you alright?"

"No!" she keened in response, "Sorcha's been caught, and it's all my fault," The Grapple Grounder hardly held a steady course, dipping and rolling over the waves, "She's going to die because of me!"

"Stop that!" Aranon barked, cuffing her over the head with his wing. "Sorcha is strong. She'll find a way out." _I hope._ He thought silently to himself.

They flew silently back to the Nest, catching large fish in place of the livestock they failed to catch in the village. The tuna wriggled for only a few seconds, gasping for air with blank eyes, before Aranon put it out of its misery.

They were the last dragons back to the Nest, so the Queen wasn't too impatient with them – she greeted them with a roar and an open mouth. Each pale eye following his progress and each bloodied tooth made Aranon want to rip them out of their sockets. The teeth and eyes.

* * *

The horrible dreams had been coming for the past few days, each one worse than the last. Tonight's was considerably the worst.

_ Aranon floated above the ocean; his large black wings pocketed the buffeting winds that flew up from the surf. It was a perfect morning, the sun rose red over the Crescent Isle's rocky horizon, bathing the black pebble beach and forest in an orange light that streamed around the mountains._

_ To his left, other Night Furies dove headfirst into the waves to retrieve fish from the thrashing sea for their pups, and to his right, other dragon species were trying to copy the acrobatic children of lightning – Monstrous Nightmares, Deadly Nadders, even a few Gronkles were trying to replicate the perfect fishing of the Night Furies._

****_The sky quickly but steadily became crimson instead of the blue of day, and he seemed to be the only dragon to notice. All the others continued with their fishing. Tempest flew up behind him, "You finally decided to come back," she said "I was beginning to worry that you wouldn't make it in time."_

_ Torok flew up also, a malicious look chiseled onto his face. "Don't listen to her – We're all dead because of you. You didn't come back fast enough. All dead –" Torok shivered. Suddenly, his body began to shake uncontrollably, his flesh melted off his bones until only a skeleton remained. The bones rattled as they struggled to keep flying in the shape of a Night Fury, but they slowly sunk downwards, away from Aranon._

_ Aranon looked down in fear, all the dragons, Gronkles, Nightmares, Nadders – were skeletons. They moaned, "dead. dead. dead." _

_ Tempest was the only other living dragon, "Aranon, is it true?"_

_ "It is true!" _Another living voice conjured itself into Aranon's dream, _Sorcha flew amongst the flying skeletons, joining the Tempest and Aranon. She was pumping her wings heavily against the Viking net that stretched over them, unable to shake it off. "You didn't come back for me, Aranon, you could have saved me if only you had turned back."_

_ "I couldn't!"_

_ Suddenly, skeleton dragons rose up and clamped their fleshless jaws onto the legs of both females, dragging them down. "Tempest! Sorcha!" Aranon cried desperately. He beat his wings, but was unable to move towards them._

_ Another character entered his dream, Celine, her midnight blue body twisted like a coiled vine against the blood-red sky. "Choose Aranon. Who will you save?"_

_ "Both!" Aranon cried, straining his wings desperately. _

_ Celine hissed, "You cannot save one without losing the other! It's them or us. Choose!"_

_ Aranon didn't want to respond. He only had two choices, only one of which he could choose – the Night Furies or all the other dragons of the Barbaric Archipelago. He could go back home and take his people away with the threat of them being killed by the Queen or he could stay and hopefully kill the Queen and take the Island for his people, but by then it would be too late._

_ Skeletal talons clawed at his legs, dragging him down. Down into the water._

* * *

Aranon woke with a start. His heart beat fast and his breathing was shallow. His eyes were wide from fright. Celine lay close to him, her breathing rhythmic. She had slept beside him that night instead of going back to the ledge that was home to two other dragons, they had no sympathy for her and had pushed her from their ledge when she keened for Sorcha.

Tyon was growling in the corner to himself, the gold Nadder ever moody. The Night Fury assumed he was angry with him for not bringing Sorcha back with them, and he had secluded himself even more from the other dragons– a feat Aranon had not thought possible. The Nadder was now almost completely hidden himself from sight.

Below them in the pit, Aranon could see the Smouldering Smokebreaths flying, spreading their wretched smoke around the mist to shroud the Queen from the view of the other dragons. After last night's raid, the mist that surrounded her had been diminished from the amount of animal carcasses that had been dropped in.

The Smokebreaths did everything the Queen couldn't do for herself, other than getting food, which was for bigger dragons, but they patrolled the island, carried messages, and provided information on dragons that participated in raids.

Aranon shifted his wing over Celine, who was feeling dreadfully cold for a dragon inside a volcano mountain. The Grapple Grounder shivered, her face contorting in pain. She was having a bad dream like he had; Aranon could only imagine what it was about.

The Queen bellowed from the pit, she was obviously unhappy about something. _Probably is too fat to move herself._ Aranon thought maliciously, hoping that no dragon would make a move to aid her. Celine muttered in her sleep in a language Aranon didn't understand. "_Hahim. Mujhe ghara calro." _She shifted out from under his wing. Celine tensed as if expecting something to hit her – then whimpered. Aranon couldn't stand to see her in the clutches of her dream anymore – he nudged her awake. Her head shot up, "_Nukasana_?"

"It's just me, Celine." Aranon leaned back from the startled Grounder.

Celine relaxed, "Thank-you for waking me." She muttered to herself in the foreign language again. Aranon watched her warily, remembering her role in his dream. He shook the thought when an acid yellow Terrible Terror ambled across his path. The little dragon lazily wandered past him, humming out of tune as if he had eaten too much dragonnip – if any dragonnip grew on Dragon Island.

Aranon hooked the Terror's tail with his talon, "What are you so happy about?" The Night Fury asked in a disgusted tone. The Terrible Terror just hung upside down from his tail with his pink tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, his eyes staring vacantly like balls of coloured glass. The small dragon was unexpectedly heavy. "You've stuffed yourself at the raid," Aranon spat, dropping the Terror on its head, it didn't seem to mind, it just kept on ambling along. "You're lucky. The Queen won't eat you because you wouldn't make a bite's worth."

Celine purred, then pushed the Terror on its way with her foreleg gently. "Aranon," she said sadly, "Back where I come from, we all believe that all life is sacred."

Aranon's ear twitched in bemusement.

The Grounder continued, "We also believe in a thing called karma. What goes around comes around."

"So you think I'm going to get shot out of the sky by Vikings for dropping that Terrible Terror on its head." Aranon said flatly.

"No," Celine said softly, casting her gaze to the red pit. "I'm saying that I think the Queen will pay dearly for letting Sorcha be caught." Her expression hardened. "We're not the only discontent ones here, Aranon. The dragons here are willing to fight, but they need a leader."

Aranon looked around to see if anybody was listening, the only one who might hear would be Tyon, but he wouldn't exactly spread rumors. "Are you suggesting that I lead a revolt against the Queen?"

Celine looked dead him in the eyes, "That is exactly what I'm asking you to do."

* * *

"I had no idea that when I refused to lead a revolt you would try to feed me to a grumpy old dragon." Aranon said irritably.

"Just talk to him! It will be _fine_, it's not like he'll eat you." Celine nudged him forward, "I did mention before that not all of the Night Furies had left."

"Very quietly! I hardly caught it!" Aranon snapped back. He looked into the cave. It was a small entrance, just big enough for a Night Fury, which had been dug into the inner wall of the Nest, located the farthest possible from the pit.

Aranon gave up his struggle against the she-dragon and moved towards the entrance of the cave. It was dark and dry inside, Aranon found himself sucking the roof of his mouth for moisture. "Hello?" He whispered into the dark.

"Who is it?" a voice snapped angrily, "If it's one of those insolent pups, so help me I'll-" A dark shadow slammed Aranon into the wall. Aranon struggled to see through the black spots that danced across his vision, he blinked them away. It was an incredibly old child of lightning pinning him down. His ears were greyed around the edges; white teeth were filed down to dull points.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't kill me, _Sciens_*." Aranon said dryly to the elder dragon, "I like my innards intact."

The old Night Fury leapt off of Aranon in astonishment. "Another Night Fury," He breathed, seemingly not believing his eyes.

"That does appear to be what I am, yes." Aranon replied, rolling off his back into a standing position.

The older Night Fury muttered to himself, "Then it is almost time."

Aranon cocked his head to the side, "Time for what?"

"I am old – very old." The child of lightning said to Aranon, "If you're here, that means it is time for me to join the gods." Aranon realized that this Night Fury had been away for a very long time from any others of his kind, no one believed in ascending to Valhalla after death anymore.

"What are you talking about?" Aranon asked, knowing that the elder wouldn't give him a straight answer.

"There must always be one Night Fury on Dragon Island. _Always_." The elder shook his head, "_In spe melioris venturi_."

=0=

** (In case you weren't paying attention) Celine is originally from India, so her native tongue is Hindi. I'm not an expert on the language and I always use the phonetics when dealing with foreign languages.**

*** ****_Sciens_**** – knower, (once again, Latin) an honorific title reserved for elderly Night Furies**


	5. Of an Older Promise

"In order to understand the future, you must understand the past," the elder said. "Long ago, there was–"

"How does this have to do with anything?" Aranon asked, sounding like a whining pup.

The elder shot him a scathing look, "Shut up, I'm talking." He took a deep breath, then paused – "are you going to interrupt?" Aranon shook his head, "Good." The old dragon started again. "Long ago, there was a union between dragons and humans. The humans would ride the dragons' backs, and the dragons willingly let them."

Aranon bit his tongue from saying anything.

* * *

"All dragons were included in this pact of peace, as where the humans of this region. But dark times fell on this land and seas of that pact – as they always seem to – and much fighting broke out.

"A Viking male with an overgrown ego had dubbed himself the 'Dragon Lord', and he had a single course way of thinking – that only the strong should be able to ride dragons. Humans and dragons started to disappear. It was every dragon and rider for themselves. Assassinations, skirmishes, ambushes on the innocent – it was a right mess." The _Sciens _shook his head sadly, as if he had been a witness to the tragedy. "Bezerker ships were pulled to battle by their Skrills, Bog Bandit Smouldering Smokebreaths stole weapons from enemies before battles, and sadly, Night Furies would kill in the dark for their riders. Any rider who was not deemed fit for their dragon's stature was in danger.

"A young human girl, by the name of Alainne, and her companion Night Fury, whose name was Leathan, were an example of those in danger.

"Alainne was a weak girl, a wretched, unbeatable disease ate through her body, but Leathan was one of the fittest males for leagues. They were inseparable, as the story goes, and Leathan, no matter what he tried, couldn't keep his rider alive, even though they stayed hidden from the self-proclaimed Dragon Lord.

"Alainne died," the _Sciens_ continued, "and Leathan became distraught. Her death brought about a change in his mind that caused him to become insane, no reason could penetrate his mental barrier of grief.

"Leathan flew across the seas, destroying every human village he came across – wreaking more destruction that fifty other dragons could – until he reached the home of the Dragon Lord. The sickness of insanity had eaten through his mind so far that he demanded to duel the self-proclaimed leader and his dragon companion, Sequiter – a true prince among dragons.

"They say they dueled for a full moon cycle until finally, the Dragon Lord was killed by the Child of Lightning. Sequiter, still covered in his rider's blood, decreed that all bonding with humans was forbidden and the pact be broken – being a prince he was able to say this with power – his wishes were obeyed and all dragons withdrew from their bonds, acknowledging that their presence in the war was harming their riders. In agreement with Leathan, Sequiter forced the Night Furies to swear that they would, at any cost, be the ones to resurrect the pact when the time was right."

* * *

" _In spe melioris venturi._ In the hope for a better future." He translated.

Aranon couldn't help but ask anymore: "What does this have to do with me?"

"I am old, and I am no longer able to do the task which has been set out for Night Furies by Leathan and Sequiter. You must continue for me, as I did for my predecessor. That is why you have come, is it not?"

Aranon backed away from the elder. "That isn't why I came here! I came to kill the Queen, not _bond_ with a human! After I do what I came here for, I'm leaving to retrieve my colony and bring them here. But I will _never_ stoop to bonding with a human."

The _Sciens_ gave him a penetrating glare, like he was trying to drill into the back of Aranon's mind. "You can't kill the Queen on your own. You will need help. You'd be a Stulte to think that you could do this on your own!"

"I am no fool," Aranon growled at the elder. "And I am a Child of Lightning, I'm pretty sure I can handle myself against the Queen, I just need to find her moment of weakness."

The elder shook his head as Aranon turned his back to him. "You don't know how wrong you are. I've lived here for half a century and I have never seen a moment of weakness between the Smokebreaths and the Queen."

"I'll find it. I have too." Aranon said over his shoulder, then exited the cave. The Night Fury elder sorrowed, knowing that this one would never live long in the Nest.

* * *

They were on another raid; the Queen had hungered quickly after the last pitiful haul, so everybody had hightailed it out of the Nest except a select few that were injured from the last raid. But dragons like Tyon and the elder Night Fury didn't even bother to leave their ledges or caves.

Aranon flew over the ocean, the cool early morning breeze pushing him up from the water. Beside him, Celine wavered in flight; her breathing was coming short and uneven, her mind probably racing over what had happened to Sorcha. He decided that he couldn't let the same thing happen to his other friend. "Celine," Aranon addressed the Grapple Grounder softly, "I think you should keep to the back tonight – stay out of the light."

Celine looked to him in astonishment, "You know I can't do that."

"I need you out on the edge with me," He made up an excuse, hoping it would keep her away from the fight.

The Grapple Grounder gave him a piercing look, "I know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to work. I'm going into this fight – I'm going to avenge Sorcha." That was the last thing Aranon wanted to hear, but he knew he couldn't sway her.

"Do what you must, but for the love of the forgotten gods, _be careful_." He worried for her – her wings were still quivering while she flew, whether with anger or fatigue, he didn't know.

No young dragons cavorted or flirted, no one made a noise other than the gentle whistling and quiet _thuds_ of their wing strokes, all energy was being saved for the raid. If they didn't make it back with enough food – the Smokebreaths had demonstrated on a Gronkle, who was now no longer alive.

The Nightmare Stulte from the last raid flew up beside Celine, "I was talking to Gort, and he says the Queen says you have to make the first strike shot." Gort was one of the Smokebreaths who watched over the raids for the Queen.

Sorcha had explained this to him, it was supposed to be a huge honour, making the first burst of fire against the humans, that the Queen 'bestowed' on a dragon of her choosing that she thought had done an impressive job at the last raid, that or she wanted that dragon killed by the Vikings.

But no dragon wanted to anger the Queen, he knew what would happen if she didn't do the first strike, she wouldn't live very long once she was in the Nest. "I couldn't imagine having it any other way," she seemingly pushed out her throat; it looked like she was choking on bile.

The lights of Berk came into view through the fog, lanterns winking at Aranon like fireflies through the haze. Dragons had already flown into the village to try getting food before things got messy, and they had already returned, holding limp sheep and the occasional fish rack in their mouths or talons.

They must have been too loud about it because the Vikings seemed to have woken up. Shouts erupted from them as they poured out of their structures like bees from a hive, hefting their weapons.

They never ceased to amaze Aranon with how fast they would race out to fight, like they slept with their weapons. They probably did. With a sickened look, he watched Celine shot a plasma blast at the giant sculptures of Vikings with fire in their mouths. The purple fire exploded against the statue, and the sound was deafening.

There was to be no subtly after that shot.

* * *

The dragons beside him surged forward after her plasma blast's path, all competeing in the race to be the first to the village, the Nightmare whooping with the other Stulte. But through the din of the dragons' noise, Aranon could hear the hollers of the Vikings, all shouting for the thrill of battle.

A Nightmare set fire the grass while a Nadder snatched a sheep. A Gronkle flew past, carrying a Viking on his face, the human stubbornly hitting him in the face – Aranon swore they were the same pair from the last raid.

The Vikings shouted orders to each other, running back and forth like ants whose nest had been stepped on. A Viking ran towards the south of the village, his beard smouldering from the fire of a Nadder who had flown over. He knocked down one of their own pups, growling, and then ran off again. _The antics of humans will be forever strange to me. _Aranon mused as he flew farther away from the raid.

The Stulte, though, were having a great time. They swooped around the rising fire cauldrons, chirring and shooting their fire over the structures.

The Vikings were getting smarter. They were carrying some of their sheep with them to their lower defenses and manning their catapults, tricky.

When he wheeled away from that scene he saw Celine disappear behind a structure then blasted it with her white hot fire, the hit a white version of Aranon's plasma explosion. Aranon saw the pups he was looking for, the ones who were active in the last raid, and there they were, running away from Celine's blast.

Near him, a Gronkle went down, wrapped in bolas. Her face was pure terror.

He continued circling the raid, following with his eyes the Nadders, who were snatching sheep from their confused herds with ease. Gronkles, ripping away fish racks and being – well – Gronkles. The Zipplebacks, filling houses with their gases then igniting it. If you forgot that they were all enslaved by the Queen, it would've been enjoyable to watch.

Aranon found the pyre from the last raid, still sitting by their harbour, which the Vikings had reconstructed within the five days that they hadn't raided Berk. Once again, a Nightmare was climbing up the tower, setting everything in his reach on fire, but it was a different Nightmare than last time, not a Stulte.

The leader of the village stood above him on the pyre's platform, watching the Nightmare's progress. The leader was a burly human, with a surplus of red hair growing on his face. The man scowled at the Nightmare's progress. He hit the Nightmare in the face. Twice. Which Aranon could say made the dragon quite unhappy, because he snapped back at the man savagely.

_Stupid Nightmare, just let us do our jobs. _Aranon thought, building up his plasma blast in his belly. The shrill scream from his preparation warned the Nightmare, who soared off the tower.

Aranon could distinguish two words from the Viking's crazed shouts. _Night Fury_.

He loosed it upon the pyre tower, his wings whistling. This one flew like a hatching Gronkle – explosive – then observed it burst against the catapult, creating blue rings of purple-blue fire. The Stulte roared in exhilaration, bathing in the light of Aranon's plasma explosion. Aranon sped over it, the heat from the blast warming his belly.

There was a scream from the village, crying '_Night Fury'_ like cursed words.

The Vikings had obviously learned to fear him, through his predecessor Night Furies – like the elder that was still in his cave – and himself. Personally, that's how Aranon wanted it. He didn't want any old Viking trying to hit him in the face with a hammer, and it gave him the perfect excuse to stay out of sight.

He would be the shadow in their dreams. Because he was a Night Fury, he was never seen, and he definitely never missed.

Aranon swayed in the wind, the air buffeting him violently as he flew back above the raid. He surveyed the scene. Half the village was alight with dancing fire; the other half was crawling with dragons. _This was a very successful raid._ Aranon reflected. He shook the thought from his head – he was starting to think like the Queen wanted him to.

He would get a sheep and go. He didn't want to be here any longer than he had to before more poisonous thoughts slithered into his mind.

"Hit the tower!" A Nadder flew past him, bleeding profusely on her leg. The flesh was split wide open; Aranon could see her bone and was astonished that she was still able to fly. "It's their last catapult, hit it!" A Gronkle flew underneath the Nadder and grabbed hold of the Nadder's injured leg. His amber eyes were furious, burning with hatred for the Vikings who had done harm to his friend.

One more shot. Only one. Then he would go.

Aranon jetted towards the catapult to the north side of the village, gathering the plasma in his belly, then with his characteristic shriek, loosed it on the tower. It felt oddly liberating, watching his fire race towards the catapult, blowing it apart, even if it made the back of his eyes burn. _For Sorcha. _He sped fast the inferno before it could land on his back.

Everything suddenly seemed to slow down, every moment defined to the point of giving Aranon a headache. Out of the darkness, glinting in the light of his fire, four metal balls flew towards Aranon, linked together by rope and a circle of metal. Bolas.

Aranon screeched as he attempted to barrel out of the way of the flying contraption, but his wing was too far out. The rope snapped around it, then wrapped around his body and legs. The Night Fury plummeted towards the north side of the Island, his wings straining against the ropes in a futile attempt to shrug them off. He was going towards the forest below him as a furious speed, at all the wrong angles for making a safe landing without his wings, even if he was a the right angle he probably wouldn't survive the impact against the ground.

He squeezed his eyes shut; he was ready for the fall into the forest.

* * *

Aranon roared in pain when he hit the first tree.

In fact, he was pretty sure he had burst right through it. And the next one. He glanced off the third tree, but he could hear the violent groan of ripping bark. He plowed over a bank of dirt and tumbled over the ridge and off a rock. When he finally came to a stop, he loosed a high pitched whine, the dragon form of crying, although no tears welled in his eyes like humans.

A profuse pain throbbed up and down his tail, like a dozen Terrible Terrors had latched on and refused to let their grip off. His scales were wet, and he smelled blood.

Stupid, to think he would escape unscathed; it must be a deep cut, for so much pain, somewhere near his left tailfin. Nótt's wrath, it hurt. When he had survived a fall that would have killed a lesser dragon, he was thankful that he wasn't dead.

Aranon shifted his weight from his chest to his side, so his limbs wouldn't be awkwardly pinned beneath him.

He tried to snap the ropes that bound him with his wing, but all he succeeded in was tightening the ropes around one section of his body and loosening it around his one wing, which wasn't very helpful to his cause.

He moaned as the ropes tightened around his awkwardly held foreleg. Pain once again spiked up his tail. _Stay still. Stay calm. _Aranon thought to himself, trying to calm his heavy, panicked breathing. _Pull yourself together, pull it all together._ He started to list things in attempt to calm himself. _ My name is Aranon. I am a Night Fury. My mate's name is Tempest. She is also a Night Fury. _The pain of the mention of Tempest was worse than the spike in his tail. _Breathe. Nice and calm._

Aranon drew a shuddering breath.

The sun started to peak over the trees, casting a greenish glare into Aranon's eyes. He squinted against it, but he was unable to move his head to avoid the rays.

Suddenly he felt unexpectedly tired; his eyes drooped, although Aranon fought it, he fell into an uneasy sleep.


	6. The Cove

Aranon woke to something pressing on his foreleg. He growled in annoyance and pushed it off, seriously not wanted to be bothered by whatever it was. Aranon breathed heavily, pain shooting up his tail from the movement.

He cracked his eye open and peered over his wing.

Standing there was the auburn-haired pup from the last raid, holding the same dagger as before, a frightened expression on his face. Aranon clearly scared the pup even when he was tied up and defenceless.

Aranon fixed the human with his calm stare; it seemed to make the pup uncomfortable, because it started to fiddle with the hilt of his dagger.

The pup took a deep breath. "I'm goanna kill you, dragon. I'm goanna-" he tilted his head to the side, twisting his dagger to a plunging position, "cut out your heart and take it to my father. I'm a Viking," the pup said, as if trying to convince himself of his statement. "I'm a Viking!" He shouted at Aranon with a fierce expression.

"Nótt save me," Aranon moaned.

The pup held up his dagger dramatically; ready to plunge in into Aranon's chest. _Tempest, I'm sorry, that I should die at the hands of a human pup. _"The gods have a cruel sense of humor." He said aloud, placing his head on the ground in surrender, closing his eyes. He waited, but as he was expecting the cold steel to cut into him, nothing happened. Aranon flinched when the pup spoke.

"I did this," The pup's voice pierced through the dark veil of Aranon's resignation. The dragon could feel the retreating steps of the human as it stepped back. _Good, he's leaving. _Aranon thought.

Suddenly, there was a pitched metallic sound. Aranon's eyes snapped open. He looked over at the pup, who was sawing furiously at the ropes that bound the Night Fury's body, casting fugitive glances over his shoulder as he did so. A rope snapped. Then another. Ropes slipped down on Aranon's leg.

Aranon tensed, he didn't know what this human had planned for him, but he doubted it was good. One more rope snapped off and Aranon leapt up, slamming the pup against the rock he had fallen over before. The human squirmed between his claws, gasping.

Aranon squinted at the boy, millions of hateful thoughts trying to cram themselves into his head. The Night Fury paused for a moment, staring down the human. _I can kill you. I probably should kill you. But you spared my life – and now I spare yours._

Unrighteous anger welled up inside of him, putting pressure behind his eyes.

The child of lightning raised his wings menacingly, then loosed an ear splitting roar in the human's face. The pup looked as if he was about to melt into the ground. Aranon huffed to himself and jumped away, using the rock as an assist to take off.

Only, he couldn't take off. Aranon had brushed by a tree, but then quickly slammed into a rock face, the stone forcing him to arch his back. He plummeted to the ground, shrieking. "No! No! No!" he shouted, realizing that his tail fin wasn't injured, it was _gone. _Torn to shreds; and he couldn't fly without it. "Curse the gods, damn it!" He roared as he tumbled to the ground once again.

Aranon screamed as pain flared up in his tail once more. "Son of a Gronkle!" He shouted for spite, shooting a plasma blast a tree. The tall spruce fell over, the wood cracking and splitting, aggravating Aranon's ears. The Night Fury lay on his side for a moment, breathing heavily, trying to pull his thoughts together, but drew a blank. He shoot another small blast in frustration, the plasma disappeared into the forest, hitting something in the distance with a muffled thump.

The Night Fury continued on foot, giving on up trying to fly was embarrassing. Not that he minded walking, but dragons always felt venerable when not traveling in the air. He watched the ground disappear between his paws as he walked; each blade of grass illuminated by the morning sun. He absolutely hated it.

"What is this? A dragon on the ground, in wolf territory, no less,"a voice came up beside him, belonging to a russet she-wolf, who smiled maliciously.

Aranon bared his teeth, "A cornered dragon is more dangerous than a free one."

Another wolf approached, followed by half a dozen more, "Yes, but a downed dragon is a dead dragon, or haven't you heard?" He barked in laughter, the rest joining in like jackals. "We're being pushed back from our hunting grounds – our pups are hungry, dragon, and wailing pups make one short of temper."

"Move on, wolf." Aranon snarled, "I am no easy meal for you or your mewling pups." The dog leapt out, his teeth snapping, but Aranon easily sidestepped him and swatted it away with his forepaw. The russet she-wolf pounced on his back, sinking her teeth into Aranon's wing joint. The Night Fury hissed in pain, then rolled on his back; the she-wolf was crushed under his weight, Aranon could hear snapping bones – the wolf's teeth dislodged from his joint.

Three of the wolves stood to the side, knowing this wasn't a fight they could win, but the other three tackled the Night Fury. They yelped wildly, their eyes rolling with excitement as they clawed at Aranon's back.

The dragon pumped his wings vigorously, knocking two of the wolves from his back, then he leapt up into a tree to roll off the third. The wolves whined beneath the tree he was now precariously perched in, circling the trunk with their ears pricked upwards.

"Come on down, dragon!" One of them taunted, jumping onto his hind paws.

Aranon shook his head, then tried to move to the next tree, testing a bough with his foot; the branch dipped dangerously, not holding his weight. The tree itself swayed dangerously, his plasma blast must have hit it when he shot it into the forest.

He cursed himself, then again for good measure. Aranon looked down at the wolves, who were still taunting him from their lower positions. They must have figured his inability to fly by now, if it wasn't apparent before.

Aranon had two options: climb down and let himself be torn to pieces or jump and try to glide as far as possible.

The latter sounded more appealing to him than the first.

Aranon bunched up his shoulders, flaring his wings; then jumped into the air. He leapt above the tree tops but quickly started to descend on an awkward angle. Aranon attempted to fight the strange flight pattern, but a gust of wind tossed him into a roll and the Night Fury crashed into the tip of a spruce.

The dragon roared in agony as his tail bashed against the boughs as he tumbled downwards on the trunk. Aranon desperately tried to hook his claws on the red bark, but he continued his painful fall until he hung on the bottom branch, not twelve feet from the stump. It would have been fine except that the tree hung precariously on the edge of a cliff that wrapped around a cove. Wolves on one side, yelping after their prey, or a cove that the wolves wouldn't follow him into.

Aranon didn't even think when he jumped off the bough into the cove.

* * *

Aranon tumbled down the roots of the tree into the cove; when he finally came to a stop, he closed his eyes, breathing heavily. He wasn't expecting such a violent fall.

The wolves stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down at him. They laughed like jackals at him, their lips pulled back in comical grins. Aranon whipped his head around, then with a dismal whine realized that they were laughing at his stupidity. There was no escape from the cove but for one narrow slit too high for him to jump to. The dragon cursed himself again, fury making spots dance across his vision.

Aranon heard a squeal from one of the unseen wolves, then frightened howling following. The wolves how had been hanging their heads over the ledge had retreated nervously, their ears laid flat on their heads as they loped off into the forest. The dragon tensed himself for whatever had scared off the wolves, a low growl building up in his throat as he waited for the thing to come for him.

"Aranon!" Celine burst from the forest. _She must have scared the wolves off. _Aranon thought. "Where have you been?" _She sounds worried sick. _Blood slicked the side of her long body, originating from a jagged gash carved just below her wing. "Aranon, where were you? I was so scared when I couldn't find you; I thought they had gotten you!" She landed in the cove, running awkwardly to Aranon.

Aranon nuzzled her, licking the blood from her scales. "I was shot down," He drew away, "and I now I can't fly."

"What?" Celine asked desperately, her eyes wide. Her neck wound around to Aranon's tail in concern. "How did this happen?"

"A Viking shot me down with bolas, the ropes tore off my tail fin," Aranon said, trying to calm the female, her hormones were obviously taking her sense from her. "I was chased into this cove by the wolves you scared off."

Celine cast her eyes to her claws. "I'm so sorry, Aranon. This is entirely my fault. I should have stayed with you and not gone off on my own, this never would have happened."

Aranon caught her eye, "What's done is done," he paused. "Go back to the Nest, Celine. There is no hope for me now, I cannot fly, and I cannot climb from this cove, and you definitely can't carry me out." The Grapple Grounder was about to intervene when Aranon silenced her- "You're hurt," he said, pointing out her injury with a meaningful glance. "And even if you weren't, your wings are not large enough to carry me out of this place. Even if you did take me out, what would I do from there? Fly home? No. A dragon that cannot fly has no purpose or reason to live, go back to the Nest and forget about me Celine."

"I'll come visit you," She said, as if trying to convince herself of something, "I'll take you food."

"Nibbling at scars keep them open, do not come back. For my happiness."

Celine growled in frustration, "Aranon, you don't understand. I went looking for Sorcha, I went to the pit where they kill dragons. That is why I didn't have your back."

Aranon huffed at the Grapple Grounder, "I don't blame you for anything, Celine."

"I smelt her blood!" The she-dragon barked at Aranon, then her voice suddenly quieted: "Sorcha's dead."

Aranon was at a loss for words.

"And now you're telling me to let you roll over and die? I don't think so!" Celine's voice built up into an angered roar again. "I don't want to be alone! I don't care if it's selfish, I don't care if you don't want to believe me – but you are going to live. For my_ happiness_." She spat the last word at Aranon's face.

The Night Fury hung his head, "Celine, I can never win an argument with you."

"I know." She said, her tail flicking Aranon across the nose, "I'll bring you some fish tomorrow, although I think I'll have a hell of a time trying to catch them. I'm awful at fishing."

Aranon chirred, then nudged the female away, "Go. If you're late, the Queen won't be as forgiving as before."

Celine nodded grimly, then flared her wings. She sprang from the ground like a coil and was out of sight, over the crowns of the trees.

* * *

That night was extremely trying for Aranon.

His first attempt at sleep was interrupted by a nagging voice that was intent on repeatedly whacking itself against the sides of Aranon's mind, _At least _try_to fly. Wuss. Hey there, pretty moon! I got a boar, a hare, a fish to share!_ The voice recited a line from Celine's song – it felt like it was a million years ago they had that hunting trip. _Hunting, yes, that sounds nice – oh wait, you can't fly!_ The voice laughed maliciously.

Aranon banished the voice from his head with a shake, then started to prowl around the cove to work off his nerves. He found a shelter underneath the roots of a large tree that spilled over the side of the cove; but it was small, too tight to sleep in. He moved on and discovered that the lake had, somehow, fish in it. That confused him, the lake didn't have any river feeding into it, so the fish must have gotten there by some unnatural means. Either way, he wouldn't worry himself to death over that tiny detail. He continued and found an area behind a cluster of rocks, a shallow scoop inside. Aranon slipped inside it, settling himself into the bowl, he wrapped his tail over his nose and eyes.

He heard a faint swishing noise and his eyes shot open. Luminous pine-green orbs in the dark.

Aranon hissed, his teeth shooting from their sheaths in defiance for the dark. It must have been the trees in the wind; he chided himself, slipping out of the rock bowl. He looked up into the sky, only to be half-blinded by the glaring white moon. _I swore on the moon and the stars and everything in-between._ He squeezed his eyes shut, _Oh, Tempest. I've failed you, I've failed everyone._ The stars winked as if they were mocking him.

The dragon blasted the ground with a stream of fire, then settled down on the smouldering grass. He tucked his wings in tight and his tail wrapped around him like a tightening cobra. He shoved his head under his right wing, trying not to think about everything – that only caused everything to try to cram itself into his head at once.

He tried not to think about how his last fish was three days ago. His stomach growled painfully. He tried not to think about Celine's injury and Sorcha's death. Remnants of the blood he had licked from her gash seemed to congeal in his nose and throat. He tried not to think about the pain in his Thinking about the Crescent Island was the worst thing that entered his mind. His dream about the skeleton dragons crowded his mind.

Aranon choked back a whine, his eyes lost their focus, and his insides scrunched up in knots.

Everything felt cold.

* * *

Aranon watched a twittering flock of birds as they spiraled and contorted in their cloud of feathers. The dragon eyed them irritably as they continued their mindless circuit around the cove. His mind drew a blank, even though he usually had something to say or think, but he had nothing. _I'm going soft._ He thought to himself crossly.

The Night Fury's eyes followed a seam in the rock of the cliff, only to see his view of the sky blocked around the cove blocked by a thick crown of trees. The light that filtered through was an emerald green, the motes that streamed through the empty space between the boughs were a golden yellow.

Aranon jumped up, beating furiously with his wings, his tail swinging like a pendulum. The dragon slammed into the wall. _That's a cliff, _He thought painfully.

When he hit the ground, he jumped up again, angrily scrabbling at the walls. But he was once again forced to glide over the lake and onto the ground. Another attempt out of the cove eluded him by seemingly raising the cliff height; he tumbled to the ground and landed heavily on his shoulder. He attempted flight twice more, but both times fate laughed in his face.

He blew a shot at the ground and screeched in frustration.

He shook his head, _I hate my life. _Aranon watched the fish lazily drift through the murky water next to him, he eyed them intently, then darted his head into the water, but the fish eluded his jaws. Aranon's ear twitched. A small stick seemed to be dropping from a high ledge, seemingly trying to hit every rock on the way down. The dragon searched for the source of the stick.

The Night Fury froze when his eyes met a pair of pine green eyes.

The pup.

The human's scent just screamed fear and his eyes were wide with fright. Aranon gazed up at the pup, almost expectantly, his day had been fairly excruciating and he was just waiting for something alive to sink his claws into.

But this was better than what he had been hoping for. The very creature who caused his misery should share in his suffering, if only for the last moments of its life.

Aranon brushed the notion from his head. Now he was becoming vile. He needed to straighten his priorities and get a grip on his thoughts and instincts. The human darted away from Aranon's view, tucking a square piece of leather full of white leaves into his jacket. Not even caring about the stick that he dropped.

Aranon intently watched the gap in which the pup had disappeared through.

* * *

** I know this is a very climatic part of the story, but I just want to tell you that I haven Is and Aranons no awkward catch up period were one character has to summarize their whole experience in a few sentences.**


	7. To Fly With Eagles

**Okay peoples.**

** I was on vacation and I was actually doing stuff with my life, so I wasn't on my laptop, so this might not meet your expectations.**

** Also, I had an extremely hard time with this chapter, getting my view of Toothless to fit with how he is portrayed in the movie is extremely hard, and I apologize if this chapter is not up to par. _As long as you don't murder me, I'm good._**

** And without further ado...**

* * *

That afternoon, Celine visited him, carrying a single – extremely mangled – cod.

She landed steeply in the lake, because she was so large and her wing was still injured, combine that with that she was keeping the fish together in her front claws; she wouldn't have been able to land on the ground even if she wanted to.

But she had more wounds than what he remembered from the day before, claw marks ran down the length of her neck, two more wrapped around her tail, and the edges of her wings her tattered.

"Celine, what are you doing?" Aranon dove into the water and dragged her out by her hind leg, belligerently swiping her over the head with his tail, "You shouldn't be flying in your condition."

She lifted her head and grinned foolishly, "I got your fish."

"I can see that much," Aranon replied tartly, "But why did you fly so far with injuries like this?"

Celine regarded him as if having no idea what he was talking about, "I promised to bring you your fish." She pushed the mangled cod towards him, "See?"

He pushed the fish aside, "Celine, what happened? Did you get in a fight?"

"Part of the mountain collapsed and the Smokebreaths left. I was trying to stop one of them and the rest of the Smokebreaths attacked _me_. The little gits."

"What happened?" Aranon asked, startled.

Celine shoved the fish towards him, "The Queen must have shifted her weight or something, but part of the mountain collapsed – that section is where the Smokebreaths nests where – so the little monsters left."

"They're gone?" Aranon asked, not believing what he heard. He took the fish and devoured it, the cod slid down his throat and landed in his belly, hardly enough to be satisfying, but it was enough.

"For good. The Smokebreaths won't come back until the Queen finds a way to accommodate them without getting rid of other dragons, then she has to get a messenger over there that will deliver the message before they kill him or her."

"That probably won't happen."

* * *

Celine had left to the Nest and had left Aranon alone in the Cove when the sun sank below the treeline; he once again had refused her assistance. Aranon slipped into the shallow bowl in his rock formation, heating the rock with fire and settling down for the night.

Aranon curled into the tightest ball he could create, feeling oddly nostalgic for the heat of the Nest. Even on the Crescent Isle, there were branches of lave running beneath the outer shell of the mountain, and there was a series of shallow hot springs in the surrounding forest that Night Furies would sleep in during the winter cold snaps. Dragons never wanted to nest far from a heat source.

He found himself thinking wistfully about the Crescent Isle, the beautiful flying, the forest of pines, even the small sand clearing were the pups learning to fly would play _Salio*_ – a game in which one pup creates lines in the sand and another must start in the center and make their way outwards without landing on the lines. If they did, their playmates would pounce on them. It was a simple teaching method of flight, and also helped the older pups loose their energy on each other before returning to their nests.

Aranon drifted to sleep, kind memories floating through his mind. His awareness settled on a memory, and he dreamt.

* * *

_ Aranon was standing next to his mother, nervously hiding beneath her wing. He peeked out and looked up at her, his eyes meeting her turquoise ones. "Go Aranon, play with them," she nudged her youngest pup forward. In his week-long life, he had never separated from his mother, and Aranon didn't want to start now._

_ He watched Torok pounce on one of his older friends who had accidently landed on a line, Kopin, playfully biting at his stout neck. But it seemed like incredibly real fighting to Aranon. He cringed back under his mother's wing. "I think I'll stay with you," he said certainly, wrapping his tail around her hind leg._

_ She laughed a sweet, honeyed laugh. "My little sparrow, you cannot hope to fly with eagles if you never learn to take off."_

_ "Heya there!" a voice piped from outside the material of his mother's wing. A small head peeped under as Aranon's mother lifted her wing to admit the voice. Aranon glared at his mother, feeling rather betrayed. _

_ The voice belonged to a female, almost his age. She had silver markings running from her head that looked like an upside-down tree was imprinted on her back. "I'm Tempest!" Her voice was high pitched and perky, and her head bobbed up and down enthusiastically, "You wanna play with me?"_

_ Aranon sought his mother's approval, which she granted with a nod. "I guess," Aranon replied, just as soon as Tempest whisked him away with a mischievous grin on her face._

_ They had played until the sun neared the horizon and their mothers called them back, but the two pups were uneager to separate from each other's company, and they looked over their shoulders as they departed._

_ Two months later, they had found each other again; once more in the _Salio_ clearing. Tempest assisting her younger brother, and Aranon to escape Torok's newfound ability to shoot plasma blasts._

_ Aranon watched her push her younger brother into the_ sand pit_. She stood back, her head cocked in mock interest. The male strode up beside her, "It's a big colony, but I must say, I had assumed to see you sooner than this."_

_ "Aranon!" She gasped, "Holy Nótt, I thought I'd never see you again!" Her voice was no longer high pitched; rather, it had become smooth and pleasing to the ear. Tempest chirred outrageously, "And you look _very_ nice."_

_ "A very attractive nice, huh?" He said with a voice dripping with sarcastic modesty._

_ "Don't push your luck." She jumped on his back, playfully boxing his ears with her wings. Aranon rolled over her, but she continued the tumble and pinned him to the ground, a triumphant gleam in her white-blue eyes. She taunted him playfully: "You're a coward!" he batted her with his tail._

_ "You're a wimp!" he rolled over her, this time, it was him pinning her to the ground. _

_ She giggled uncontrollably, "You're_ toothless_!"_

_ "Oi!" He yelped, playfully nipping her neck, "Who's toothless? Hey?" He continued the play fighting, "Hey?"_

_ "Me!_ Me!_" She squealed, wriggling under his weight, but her eyes suddenly became slits when heavy footsteps fell nearby. "Aranon, gerroff!" With a massive heave, she pushed him off. _

_ The two young Night Furies straightened themselves as Tempest's father strode past, his eye heavy on Aranon. When he had passed, the two pups chirred to each other and continued their rough play._

* * *

Aranon woke with a start, his breathing coming short and quick. Whatever had woken him from his pleasant dreams was a scratching sound, accompanied by an exasperated huff.

The dragon padded up the highest rock that formed his sleeping place, hunching over the top to get a better look of the sleep intruder.

It was the pup again, a hand jammed up a cod's gills, carrying it close to his chest. Aranon's mouth started to water. He had to have that fish.

The boy gasped as Aranon crept slowly down the rock in a hunter's prowl, his pupils obsidian slivers. The pup hesitantly held out the cod to Aranon, seeming trying to keep his body as far away from the dragon as possible.

Aranon swept his tail to the side, sniffing eagerly in anticipation of the sweet fish in his mouth. He awkwardly stepped forward, also conscience of his proximity to the human pup. Aranon opened his mouth, ready to snatch the fish, but a metallic smell shoved itself up his nose, and he shrank back with a growl.

The pup pulled back his fur covering to reveal a small dagger tucked in his waistband. The human placed a hand on its hilt, and Aranon growled savagely, the Vikings were volatile; this pup was undoubtedly no different than his kin.

The human quickly took his hand off the hilt and took a small step back. Aranon watched him intensely when the Viking gingerly lifted the dagger, extended his arm, and dropped it mechanically to the ground, tip-first.

"Farther," Aranon growled, motioning with his head to the pond.

The pup, reeking of fear, picked it up with his foot and threw it into the pond beside them. Aranon relaxed when he heard the hollow _plunk_ of the sinking weapon. Without his dagger, the pup would be powerless with his spindly limbs and obvious lack of hand-eye coordination.

Aranon twitched his ear good-naturedly, then slowly advanced on the boy when he extended the fish once more, the dragon's mouth hungrily agape.

The pup squinted, "Huh, toothless, could've sworn you had-" That's when Aranon realized his teeth were still sheathed from his sleep. He instantly snapped them out and snatched the fish from the pup's grasp, "Teeth." The boy whispered hoarsely, shrinking back from the Night Fury.

But Aranon was too busy gulping down the fish, his taste buds screaming with delight – even though it smelled like humans. When the fish was in his belly, Aranon fixed his eyes on the pup, then advanced on him curiously. Why feed him, when just a day ago the pup was intent on killing him?

The ways of the Vikings would always be a mysterious to him.

The pup backed up, then tripped over his own feet –serves him right, walking around on his hind legs – and braced himself up against a rock. "I don't have any more," he told Aranon tensely.

Aranon hovered over the pup, then thought for a moment. The Night Fury was perplexed by the human's behaviour, wondering why he still wasn't attempting to kill him with his bare hands; any other human would have certainly tried.

The dragon summoned the fish back from his belly, then spat it out onto the pup's lap. The human made a slightly disgusted noise, straightening himself against the boulder, then looked back up at Aranon in question. The half-fish glistened tantalizingly, almost making Aranon wish he had kept it in his stomach.

He raised his wings up, then fell back on his hind legs; his wings draped over the ground like they were weighted down by rocks. The boy sat uncomfortably with the fish in his lap, shifting under the steady gaze of the dragon, holding the fish uncertainly in his lap. Aranon mentally chirred. He looked down at the fish, then back up to the pup's face.

The boy sighed, hesitantly bringing the fish closer to his face. He paused. Then took a bite, but kept the sweet fish in his mouth. _Savouring the flavor or revulsion? _ It only occurred to Aranon afterwards that it was the latter.

"Mmm. Hmm hhhrmm." The pup forced the sounds out of its mouth, holding the fish back out to Aranon.

Aranon observed the pup, obviously humans didn't eat fish – they only harvested them for their bones and anything else a fish possesses. Aranon made a swallowing motion to help the pup along with the process.

The Viking grunted, dropping the rest of the fish in his lap, then struggled to swallow. The human shivered when it had gone down his throat after much difficulty. Aranon had seen Terrible Terrors have similar problems swallowing fish whole, this human had the same difficulty, having an equally scrawny neck.

The human smiled weakly, not like a dragons, who just lifted the ends of their mouths, but actually opening his mouth. Aranon attempted to copy the human, just out of curiosity of the sensation of their smile.

He didn't want to provoke the Viking to fight, so he sheathed his teeth and opened his mouth and lifted the corners at the same time. It felt – oddly comforting – sharing something with another being without having to fight for it like dogs.

No sooner than he had copied the human's gesture, the pup placed the fish on the ground, then did something inexplicable. He put his hand out to _touch_ Aranon.

"Don't you dare," the Night Fury growled, shooting his teeth back out, then darted away from the Viking. He raised his wings, only too late remembering that he couldn't fly away. He glided over the lake unsteadily, then landed on the opposite bank with an irritated growl.

_Stupid human. _Aranon thought, blasting the ground with his fire. He beat it down with his feet, then curled over the smouldering grass. He opened his eyes, only to see that the Viking had persistently snuck up on him, sitting cross-legged.

The pup waved slightly, giving Aranon a faint smile. The Night Fury grumbled, untucking his tail from beneath him and placing it in front of his face, he raised his tail fin in an obvious gesture, "Leave me be," Aranon huffed. He waited for a moment, then, an unknown sense kicked in, and he whipped up his tail to see the pup reaching to touch him.

Aranon watched the pup stand up quickly and spin rigidly on his heel, attempting to act like had been doing nothing.

"Go away," Aranon grunted, standing up himself and walking off towards the tree that spilled its roots into the cove, the very one that he had jumped from into this prison. He didn't look back at the pup until he was hanging upside down on the root of the tree by his tail – the pup was sitting on the far side on a rock, curiously observing Aranon from across the lake.

Aranon immediately shut his eyes, trying to convince the human he was asleep, but he was never one for pretending, and he fell to into sleep.

* * *

Aranon blinked, his sleep had seemed to last only a moment, but the sky above the cove was streaked with pink and orange and the lake was ablaze with evening colours reflecting from its surface.

And the Viking was still there.

He was still on the boulder, his back to Aranon. The Night Fury slipped from the branch, making as little noise as possible as he skirted the lake to where the pup was seated.

The human was dragging a stick through the dirt; it was small and full of squiggling lines that resembled – _Salio_. Aranon must have not been thinking clearly, because he decided to show the human how it was done. Aranon walked – on his two hind legs – towards a sapling that was rooted by the edge of the cove.

He snapped it off at its base, then staggered back to where the human was sitting, using the tree for balance as he continued to use his hind legs for walking. Aranon went behind the pup; tree clamped firmly in his jaws, then began to fill the dirt area with random lines.

For a moment, he was back on the Crescent Isle, redrawing the _Salio_ lines after a rainstorm with a group of other pups, being morons and playing around, but he was instantly shaken from the vision when he finished the lines. He snapped his head back, expecting to see Tempest grinning at him, but only saw the pup. His disappointment quickly evaporated as he nodded to the lines he had just drawn. _And that's how you make a _Salio _arena_. He thought to himself.

The Viking stood up, twisting around and observing the _Salio _lines with a curious eye.

Aranon sat, his ears pricked in earnest, remembering his mother's words: '_You cannot hope to fly with eagles if you never learn to take off.'_ This pup would learn to take off. If he did, then maybe, just maybe, he could fly with the eagles.

The pup took a step forward, placing his foot on one of the lines. Aranon rumbled, baring his teeth in warning of breaking the only rule in _Salio_. The Viking's foot shot up and Aranon relaxed, then the pup repeated the action and Aranon, once again, reacted in kind.

The pup tried again. Like he didn't expect Aranon to repeat his actions, but he did, laying his ears back and growling until the pup stepped over the line.

The human smiled slightly at Aranon, not opening his mouth this time, and took another step over a different line. Aranon watched contentedly as the pup began to understand the game, albeit the lack of flying, he didn't place a single toe on the lines as he swung around, slowly, ever so slowly, making his way to Aranon unawares.

Only did he notice when his back nearly touched Aranon's chest, and the Night Fury breathed down the pup's neck.

The human spun around, seeking Aranon's gaze, and the dragon gave it to him.

The pup reached out his hand, hesitating when Aranon growled, "No." Something about the human looking into his eyes while touching him didn't feel right.

The Viking dropped his head down, holding his hand out.

Not knowing what he was doing, Aranon started to close the gap. He hesitated for a moment, almost frightened, then pressed his snout to the boy's hand, his eyes closed.

Something electric sparked in the back of Aranon's mind, producing a metallic zing in his nose. He sneezed, then, before he regretted anything, bounded away from the human.

* * *

***_Salio _– Latin (I love Latin) literally 'hop' (pronounced Sah-leo)**

**Because of aforementioned vacation, I am behind on my writing schedule. Also, I am involved in a play production with my school and the rehearsals continue from the end of the school day to late at night, so, sadly, not writing this week. As a result of the combination of my vacation and school activities, I will not be able to update for another two weeks.**

** I apologize for this inconvenience, but it is necessary in order for this story to be the best it can be.**


	8. Like Father Like Sons

**Huge thanks to Kathey Royals for some of the ideas incorporated in this chapter!**

* * *

Aranon bit hard on his tongue, trying not to shriek as he peeled the scab from his tail. The wound had been infected by various dirts and pebbles that had entered it in his haste of escape from the wolves, he was sure there was some damage done by the algae in the pond too.

After various attempts to work around the ragged scab, he had finally told himself that he had to tear it off in order to keep it from becoming infected beyond repair.

Finally the scab came free, and Aranon flung the mottled skin away into the pond beside him. He roared in pain, then immediately pressed his tongue into the profusely bleeding groove.

Aranon hissed angrily as his own blood trickled down his tongue, dripping onto the sand. He forced himself to lick upwards, small pebbles dislodged from his muscles and grated against the exposed flesh.

He quickly drew his tongue into his mouth like it had been bitten by a fire ant. Nótt that hurt. Aranon wasn't a fan of inflicting pain on himself, something his father, Ronoth, had made him and his brother do routinely when they were young - licking embers or stepping in Changewing acid. Aranon remembered clearly one of those times when he had questioned his father's methods aloud.

_"Father, please, it hurts!"_

_"Cut your whining, you'll do it if I say you do it."_

He had bit his tongue at that point under the prompting of Torok's meaningful glance.

After his father had died, Aranon had gone to extreme lengths to regain the feeling in his feet and belly by soaking in the hot springs to loosen his calluses.

But no matter what pain his father had put them through, he had never dared touch their tail fins, knowing that while a few scales or claws would grow back, a tail fin never would. It was a Child of Lightning's fatal flaw. The great equalizer to their many strengths - their downfall.

And now it truly was his downfall.

Aranon licked at his wound with renewed vigor, all pain was drowned in the boiling red rage that was ever at the back of his mind. One thing at a time. Lick, wince, spit the blood out, repeat.

Thinking one thing at a time does not come naturally to a creature of intelligence, and Aranon's mind wandered to thoughts of the pup. Of all things, that was what he just _had_ to think of first. The human child was the last thing he wanted to think about, but the spark that had entered his mind when they had touched refused to quell its persistent glow.

The human's eyes, not to be sentimental, were emerald green, not far from Aranon's own eye colour that was fairly generic to the Night Furies. Those eyes looked familiar. Aranon saw them every time he looked into a reflective pool.

Aranon licked viciously at the wound, now free of pebbles and dirt and other contaminants that would induce swelling or cause pus to grow.

He was safe. For now.

Aranon drew away from his tail, then carefully folded bits of his tattered black skin over the pink muscles within with his claws. Frost would have known how to heal it correctly, being the colony's only elder who cared for learning the ways of healing. His patchwork job would have to suffice in his situation – perhaps Celine knew something of healing from her upbringing in India, but he couldn't place all his hopes in that frail assumption.

The dragon stood and slowly made his way away from the bloody sand, lifting his tail as not to drag it, and lay in a sunny spot on the other side of the pond. He tried to blank his mind, but Aranon's conscience once again wandered to the subject of the pup – much to his annoyance – and settled on the fact that the pup had, in fact, not killed him. Although on many occasions he had the opportunity to, as if some sort of bond had been struck between them.

The Night Fury stiffened. _Bond. Dear gods in the heavens above – bond._ Even thinking the word made his insides writhe like a snake. Like it or not, he and that Viking had shared something when they had first met, it had started as a mutual agreement to not kill one another, sure, but it had silently grown to the point that they had _touched_.

The words of the old Night Fury returned to him, _'Long ago, there was a union between dragons and humans. The humans would ride the dragons' backs, and the dragons willingly let them.'_ Maybe this was the remnant of that union.

Aranon paused; perhaps he was the one to fulfill the task set for the Night Furies, to take the mantle of Leathan's legacy to his species.

The _Sciens_ had told him he couldn't defeat the Red Death alone, maybe it had been random wisdom, or maybe it had been some vivid premonition. For all Aranon knew the elder could have very well known his fate – but Aranon was sure now, without a doubt, that that human pup had bonded with him – and Aranon with the pup.

Aranon lay his head down on his front paws and sealed his eyes, reveling as his black skin soaked in the warm morning sun. _Bonded._ He mentally tasted the word, _bonded._ He silently decided that it was a wonderful word as it was strange.

* * *

Aranon's tail had successfully scabbed over, now just a thin pink line were his fin used to be with the jagged skin tucked over it, so it was now just a uneven seam.

The Night Fury tested the fin next to it, the flap seamlessly opened, guided by the fine bones within. Some phantom of feeling tried to convince him that his left tail fin was moving smoothly along with it, suddenly the muscles on that side of his tail spasmed in a fretful attempt to get the absent fin to respond. Aranon winced when the muscles pulled themselves in a painful retraction.

Even though it was on its way to being healed, it would be a while until the phantom pains would desert him.

The wind whistled through the cove, shaking the boughs of the trees that hung over the edges of the cliffs. No dragon could resist the call of fair flying winds – if he denied himself even a taste of the sky he would surely loose his grip on sanity.

Aranon raised his wings, the limbs screaming in protest as they hadn't extended for the past night and day. His left wing was stiff from the bite inflicted on him by the she-wolf. The dragon gave an experimental beat, and then as usual, he made a completely vertical takeoff that many other dragons were jealous of. Predictably, though, he only made it so far before gravity took its evil grip and required him to descend.

He came in to steep and jarred his back legs when he thumped down. Aranon screeched, his hind feet screamed in pain as the muscles in his legs contorted and the dragon fell over. He collapsed on his right wing, the limb was still extended, and so it splayed out and dipped into the pond's water.

_Come on. _He chided himself, drawing his wing out of the scummy water and forcing his stiff wings to beat into another vertical takeoff, once again he fell, but he was sure to not to jar his legs by drifting back down.

Aranon cursed when he twisted a talon under his foot. Without his tail fin, he was both flightless and lacking in any grace that befitted a Child of Lightning. The Night Fury gave his attempts a rest, not wishing to injure himself more than necessary, and went to the pond for a drink, trying as much as possible to avoid the algae, but it still tasted awful – like rotting fish. He spat out the water and left it thirstier than before.

He stared up into the empty space above him, cloudless and such a light blue it was almost a creamy white. Days like that on the Crescent Isle were few and far between, and when they did come, the Night Furies almost never touched their mountain nests for want of the freedom of the air and perfect winds.

But this wasn't the Crescent Isle, this was Berk. A horrible place that held him captive even more that the Nest ever had.

Aranon huffed angrily and shot an exasperated plasma blast at the water. The water vaporized where the shot contacted and the steam eddied off into the wind, several bleary-eyed fish slid to the surface from below, bloated and pale from their distasteful diet of their own feces and the algae in the foul pond. He would rather starve than eat those disgusting creatures.

The Night Fury worked up his wings, then folded them neatly on his back for later exercise; possibly when he felt more motivated to do so.

After a good while of doing nothing mentionable, Aranon found himself thinking, strangely not about the pup or the home of the Night Furies, but about himself.

Aranon was younger than he seldom let himself remember – hardly four winters – for all he had accomplished, it was hard to believe. He had a beautiful mate, a position in the colony next to his brother, and many close friends. He had led Night Fury phalanxes to battle and was respected amongst the Night Fury colonies that lay further south, nestled in the Roman Isles.

Yes, he had seen three winters and was living his third summer, that he was sure of. He had been only two winters when his brother had taken the position of leader and had appointed Aranon as his Second, as customary. Torok himself had been the youngest leader of the colony in any living memory; it was a day no one could forget.

Aranon squeezed his eyes shut; there was no way to escape as the memory played itself out on the backs of his eyelids.

* * *

_Aranon was swimming with Tempest. They had recently joined as mates, and since no pups were on the horizon due to their young age, they were enjoying the lagoon that was located on the southwest curve of the island. Despite Night Fury females only being capable of reproducing after age five, Tempest was relentlessly bouncing names off of Aranon as they swam in the water, wings splayed to keep them afloat on their backs._

_ "How about Veripides? That was my grandmother's name, or maybe even Mzi –" Tempest cocked her head at Aranon, who was grinning foolishly at her, "What?"_

_ "Keep going."_

_ Tempest huffed and rolled over onto her belly, pushing Aranon into the white sanded shallows. She pressed her foot down on Aranon's chest, "Tell me, what name would you like then?"_

_ "Considering that it'll be physically impossible for us to have a pup for another three plus years, I'd name it 'let-it-rest-until-we-actually-have-one'," Aranon flashed a winning smile and the female pouted, whirring deep in her throat. Aranon chirred, "Kor. I like Kor."_

_ Tempest flashed her pearlescent eyespots at him, then, as he was momentarily blinded, she took off. Aranon chirred and lifted off after her, and soon he caught up to her, he toothlessly nipped her tail. "Can you hear that?" She asked him, her pupils rounded. Aranon did hear it, but he had mistaken the loud roaring to be the wind in his ears. It sounded as if hundreds of dragons were simultaneously crowing and dipping their voices. _

_ And they were._

_ A thin ribbon of red trailed out into the ocean, leading from the beach, which is where Aranon and Tempest landed. _

_ They weren't the only ones there; hundreds of Night Furies crowded the pebble beach outside the Crystal Caves. Torok was in the thick of it, his head raised triumphantly, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth and down his neck. Aranon pushed forward through the crowd, with Tempest close behind him. _

_ Torok greeted them, "Aranon, brother!" He crowed, his eyes ablaze with glory. The Night Furies around them roared in approval, creating a din which Aranon had never heard before. "My Second!" This was met with another wave of ear shattering noise. _

_ That's when Aranon saw the cause for the noise, Torok's glory, and blood._

_ The leader of the colony – his father – Ronoth, lay in the pebbles, his head dug into the rocks by Torok's heavy foot. His wings were bent in all the wrong directions and his legs were folded beneath him. His eyes were closed, but a single tear of blood ran along the seam of his lids, growing fat and glistening as it neared the end of its track. Ronoth was dead. Torok had killed him. Torok had always talked about finally making their father proud, but Aranon never thought he'd take it to the point of killing him to achieve that end._

_ Torok's eyes were gleaming, fire glinting in their depths. "Brother," Aranon said, aware that the eyes of all the Night Furies were on him – this was his chance to either accept his position as Second or to attack his brother to attempt the claim for leadership – Aranon paused for a moment, calculating his chances against his larger brother in a fight. "My leader."_

_That night, there was a great celebration, trick flying competitions and large quantities of berries were consumed. Aranon could honestly say he didn't remember most of what happened that night. But he remembered just enough to notice his mother's dipping sanity. _

_ Herja tried to hide it in the first week, but it was too much to go unnoticed by the second. She refused to eat, she hardly drank, and she was constantly cleaning the nest for the mate that would never come back to her. She couldn't remember what she had said to him the day before, and slowly, she didn't even recognise her own sons. _

_ But one sliver of sanity did show, late one morning not seconds after Whispering Deaths attacked their south shore. The attacking dragons had not spared his mother any pain in her death – her wings were torn to shreds and deep cuts split her flesh to the bone along her back._

_ Aranon faced the female Whispering Death who had dealt the majority of the blows on his mother. The other dragon grinned, showcasing her sliver-like teeth. He bore his own. The female laughed; a harsh, guttural noise that reminded Aranon of gurgling blood. "Until we meet again, pup. I'm not done with you."_

_ "Nor I you." Aranon's words were short, but they were dripping with the venom of a thousand Nadder spines, "I look forward to the day we meet."_

_ "It's a date." With that, the Whispering Death left him, spiraling away with her pack. _

_ Herja pulled her song closer, then she whispered to Aranon before she slipped into the afterlife. "All Ronoth wanted was your happiness." And she died._

_ Aranon had later dismissed his mother's dying words. His father cared nothing for him._

* * *

The memory was sharp and stabbed him behind the eyes like a thorn dipped in honey. Something sweet accompanied by unworldly pain. He had wanted nothing to do with his father, only communed with this brother when necessary, missed his mother dearly, and his heart ached for Tempest.

Something tugged at the back of Aranon's mind, easing the thorn from his eyes and head gently, it was coming from the origin of the spark of the bonding. Aranon stood, not fully understanding what was happening to him, but it filled him with a strange sense of euphoria, like nothing else mattered in life but his happiness.

Aranon sneezed. It was the scent of the pup, coming ahead of the human's approach. The Night Fury sniffed the air; the pup was coming from upwind, meaning he came in peace. Another smell mingled with the Viking's, it smelled of the ocean and scales and meat. The human had come with more fish.

Aranon began to skirt the pond when he saw the human jump from the ledge into the cove, a large woven basket perched precariously on the pup's skinny back.

The human was alone. That was something Aranon had hardly ever seen before; they always seemed to go in groups like geese or fish. Only geese and fish that were armed to the teeth.

_This was going to be interesting. _Aranon thought grimly.

* * *

** Never saw Torok killing his own father to become leader, eh? Oh well, c'est la vie kiddies.**

** I'd like to explain why I made Toothless so young. While wanting to differ from basically every other fanfiction where Toothless is absolutely _ancient_, I would think that young of the other dragon species develop rather fast, so why not Night Furies? The HTTYD 2 trailer shows Toothless getting a bit softer and greyer look along with the addition of three new stubs on his jaw (a dragon beard?), so maybe Night Furies develop really fast when they're young, and then have a massive adult life for raising pups and enjoying themselves. I don't know your views, but this just makes the Night Furies a bit more believable for me.**

** Did this chapter seem like a ramble? I blame it my lack of stimulation. Gah! Fluff! *ripping my face off with my bare hands***

** I hope that this chapter cleared up some unspoken things about Toothless/Aranon's past like how he got to be the Second, or going with actual fact – how the enmity between him and the Whispering Death came about.**


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